Shall I begin with Latin?
I’ve heard through whispers that
this is the tongue which is whistled by witches
and whimpered by sinners—
I feel inclined to fold my fingers into a fine F
and ask for the Father’s favor, a permission
to utter His name in fervor – in nomine
Patris, et Fili, et Spiritus Sancti – for my
Fathers and his Forefathers taught us the Word
and the Word says– amen.
Shall I continue with Greek?
I’ve heard through epistles that
this the tongue entranced ten
thousand and seven Ephisians into
uprooting the Word that filled the Library of
Celsus— book by book, page by page,
Pillar upon Pillar of Truth— discarded.
Perhaps Paul regarded what his tongue of fire started.
Certainly, Constantine considered this
before commanding his cavalry to carve
the t of Truth on their shields and
led them to battle– a sick test of faith—
against the violent banner of belief Maxentius never
stood a chance.
Shall I keep pretending I know
every tongue in the world like the preachers
in Pentacost? In my Dreams,
with their tongues of fire
I find a string of words that
the match within the walls of my
watch the Pillars crumble.
Verónica Pilar is a queer poet from México. Lover of mushrooms, constellations, and Mercury (the god, metal and planet).